Updated: Jul 29, 2019
I must learn how to collect stars in a bucket
I must feel the Aw-full Presence over broken egg shells
and the rotten beam on my front porch.
So I mop, the vacuum cleaner fell apart,
and there was a puddle of water on my kitchen floor this morning,
A spitting refrigerator to greet me as I broke fast.
“Heaven is here,” she said, “quiet as it’s kept.”
Oh Lord, I thought, I hope not,
having had enough of trying to find God in the laundry, in the library, or in the mall.
Even if I killed all the machines and went on welfare,
I would have to find angels while filling out forms
to prove I am who I say I am
while trying to find out who I am in the Bhagavad Gita.
I must learn to reckon time payments with the Tao
and to feed the insatiable IRS,
while remembering that all fear is desire.
I wonder of the Sisters of Charity would take in a whole family of initiates?
What’s more I can’t even harvest my dreams,
because it is becoming harder and harder to find a garden,
and I am told they are on sale at the superstore.
I look, wandering up and down lanes with quartered legs and breasts on special.
“Heaven is here,” she said, “here”.
Quiet as it’s kept, the mystery clings to things. Here.”
I must learn to gather stars in a bucket.
Linda Beatrice Brown
1983, Revised, 2019